


Perfect Imperfections

by eeyore9990



Series: 30 Thankful Days [24]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Has Feelings, Feelings, Future Fic, Just The Tip Trope, Knotting, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 05:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5279282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fic that was meant to be 'just the tip' porn tripped over Derek Hale's feelings and became this instead.  </p><p>~Or~</p><p>Stiles and Derek get together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Imperfections

**Author's Note:**

> 30 Thankful Days, Day 24: Gift for Anonymous

It starts, as these things tend to do, with gazes locking across a crowded room, murmured conversation punctuated by soft laughter, and plans for a dinner date before the end of Stiles' first week back after completing his Master's degree. 

_{It started in the Preserve nearly a decade ago, two idiot teenagers and a desperately grieving young man, too hurt to be kind, too kind to be vicious.}_

It progresses quickly, the two men falling in the blink of an eye. 

_{It takes forever, works its way through anger and fear, mutual antipathy building steadily into a shaky trust and then grudging friendship. There are weeks and months and years spent apart, spent with others, spent alone learning to be who they are as individuals before it occurs to them to become a unit.}_

When they come together, breathing wordless noises into each others' mouths, fingers pressing bruises to naked flesh, it feels too fast. 

_{It feels like finally.}_

\-- 

"Stiles." Derek can't think, can barely work enough saliva into his mouth to shape his tongue around his lover's name. 

It's never felt like this before. In the past it's been sweet or hot or hazy. This is… _necessary._

This is Stiles, stretched out beneath him, warm gaze skittering along Derek's face, down his neck, across his shoulders and chest, surveying a path for his clever fingers to follow. 

This is Derek's stomach _shaking,_ his lungs locking up on every inhale then releasing in a head-spinning rush two seconds too late. 

This is sweat-slick skin with old, familiar scars and newly discovered beauty marks. It's worshipful whispers of his name that he's never heard in that tone from that tongue. He knows how sharp it is, how skillfully it can cleave the soul from a body and leave a withered husk behind. But now it's building him up, whispering words of praise and devotion. 

Words that just barely remember to shy away from a too-telling emotion. An emotion that hangs thick in the air between them anyway, filling his nostrils until his heart clenches around it, holding it close and safe. 

_Derek_ has never felt this before. It fills him with nerves, makes his strong hands tremble, his fingers grasp too tightly. Stiles rolls into the touches anyway, long neck exposed as he begs softly for more, his voice already hoarse before they've truly begun. 

The skin under his tongue tastes of that emotion but also something more. Something spicier, something that pulls him along, makes him seek it out. Find its trail and follow it. 

That scent gathers thick and heavy the longer he searches for it, overwhelms him at the source until he has to hide his face in the hollow of Stiles' hip, _breathe_ for a minute through his mouth, panting gasps all he can produce. 

There he stays, shaken, until Stiles calls his name, his voice a croaky whisper but not a demand. Derek looks up anyway, willing to do anything for that voice. What he sees makes him feel swollen inside, too hot. 

Color has never been kind to Stiles' pale skin. It fills his cheeks in splotches of red and patchy areas of white. It kisses his lips, makes his mouth too bright. Darkens his eyes until they seem frighteningly bottomless, like something to get trapped in. 

But Stiles is beautiful in his imperfections, his teeth white and straight between the clashes of pink tongue and red lips. He closes his eyes in a slow blink, his dark lashes pointing to the uneven pooling of blood beneath his skin. When he opens them again, he smiles gently, his fingers catching under Derek's chin and drawing him up, pulling him into a kiss that means nothing. It means everything. 

If they had done this years ago, Stiles would have been gnashing his teeth, spewing out words like more and faster, pushing Derek further. Maybe too far. This Stiles has learned patience, has learned the value of waiting. He knows the anticipation that lies in the shared heartbeats that count out the minutes. He knows how precious a lingering touch can be. How much more it means in the end. 

This is everything Derek has needed and nothing he's found. Until now. Until here. Until this moment. 

The swelling of emotion pushes outward, makes things stop, frozen in time as Derek pulls free of Stiles' kiss and looks down, confused. Stiles looks too, which accounts for the bubbling laughter that invites Derek in versus locking him out. It's warm and happy and does absolutely nothing to help the situation even as it makes the moment a perfect memory. 

"I didn't know," Derek says. 

"I hoped and prayed," Stiles offers, his eyebrows waggling on his forehead. 

It's enough to make Derek groan, to have him fall against Stiles and kiss the words out of his mouth. 

He plays and pets and strokes Stiles, his fingers and thumb working him open, putting ideas in his head for _next time._ But this time, he slides inside, shallow. He's stopped by his own body, and Stiles laughs again, his whole body twitching and contracting with it in increasingly erotic ways until they're both holding tight to one another, foreheads pressed together. 

Stiles reaches down, wraps those fingers around Derek where he's tight and itchy and full. He squeezes and it's horrible and perfect. It twists something inside Derek until he pops, coming in a flood that makes Stiles close his eyes, his mouth dropping open so wide Derek thinks with the bit of his brain left to him that he could fit in there. 

He could. 

Derek rolls his hips as the thought coalesces, as it flashes through his mind. His own hand drops down, just as cruel in its intentions as Stiles' had been. 

The first several inches of his dick are still hard, still working at Stiles' too-wet hole, still sliding in teasing, half-finished thrusts that end too soon. Stiles rocks with him, eyelids slitted so the barest gleam can be seen between his tangled lashes. 

"Stiles." There's very little softness left in Derek. He's demanding now, giving cracked orders. "Come for me." 

And Stiles does, his hips pushing so hard into Derek's that the bulb of his knot is pressed cruelly between their bodies. His cries are loud, sharp to Derek's ears but beautiful all the same. 

\-- 

It ends with… 

_{It doesn't end. Their story, like all the best stories, has infinite points of beginning but no end. Never an end. There is only[the next chapter](http://archiveofourown.org/tags/Derek%20Hale*s*Stiles%20Stilinski/works).}_

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know either.


End file.
